of the abdication of Jethro Bass. Mr. Page, the editor
of the Clarion, Senator Hartington's organ, was also on the platform. But
where was Mr. Ives? Where was that Gamaliel who had been such a warm
partisan in the postoffice that morning?

"Saw him outside the hall--wahn't but ten minutes ago," said Deacon
Hartington, sadly; "thought he was a-comin' in."

Eight o'clock came, and no Mr. Ives; ten minutes past--fifteen minutes
past. If the truth must be told, Mr. Ives had been on the very threshold
of the hall, and one glance at the poor sprinkling of people there had
decided him. Mr. Ives had a natural aversion to being laughed at, and as
he walked back on the darker side of the street he wished heartily that
he had stuck to his original Gamaliel-advocacy of no interference, of
allowing the Supreme Judge to decide. Such opinions were inevitably just,
Mr. Ives was well aware, though not always handed down immediately. If he
were to humble the first citizen, Mr. Ives reflected that a better
opportunity might present itself. The whistle of the up-train served to
strengthen his resolution, for he was reminded thereby that his mill
often had occasion to ask favors of the Truro Railroad.

In the meantime it was twenty minutes past eight in the town hall, and
Mr. Graves had not rapped for order. Deacon Hartington sat as motionless
as a stork on the borders of a glassy lake at sunrise, the judge had
begun seriously to estimate the gas bill, and Mr. Page had chewed up the
end of a pencil. There was one, at least, in the audience of whom the
judge could be sure. A certain old soldier in blue sat uncompromisingly
on the front bench with his hands crossed over the head of his stick; but
the ladies and gentlemen nearest the door were beginning to vanish, one
by one, silently as ghosts, when suddenly the judge sat up. He would have
rubbed his eyes, had he been that kind of a man. Four persons had entered
the hall--he was sure of it--and with no uncertain steps as if frightened
by its emptiness. No, they came boldly. And after them trooped others,
and still others were heard in the street beyond, not whispering, but
talking in the unmistakable tones of people who had more coming behind
them. Yes, and more came. It was no illusion, or delusion: there they
were filling the hall as if they meant to stay, and buzzing with
excitement. The judge was quivering with excitement now, but he, too, was
only a spectator of the drama. And what a dr